Thicker Than Water. Lindy Cameron

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      Marek looked at Kit quizzically. "He didn't seem to know who you were."

      "Ah well, the last time we saw each other I was in the middle of my bad hair year."

      "What do you call this then?" Marek smiled, drawing a halo over Kit's head.

      "Au natural. Remember that long-haired perm that looked like a crinkle-cut skull-cap when I wore it in a bun for work, and which went spackarse when it was loose. It's not surprising Chucky didn't recognise me as the snarling Medusa who threw hot coffee in his lap during our last encounter." Kit widened her eyes, "Speaking of snake heads."

      "What are you doing here, Jon?" Parker asked. "Not checking up on me I hope, Boss."

      "No," the boss stated, turning on his heel to face his colleague. Kit received Marek's follow-up you idiot by telepathy. "I'm having coffee with an old friend. You remember Kit O'Malley, I'm sure."

      "Jesus! Um, yeah. You look - different, O'Malley. How come..." Parker ran out of words or wind or petrol, so he waved his hands around before anchoring them on his hips.

      "Do you want me to brief you now," Marek asked pleasantly, "or are you going to tell me why it took you so long to get here?"

      A surprised Parker hoicked his eyebrows at Kit while giving Marek a look that said either: 'steady-on Boss, not in front of the public - especially that member of it'; or 'I'll get back to you when I've thought of a good reason'.

      Meanwhile Kit's insides smiled broadly as she counted three things she'd always liked about Jon Marek: he did not suffer fools, he made no allowances for dickheads and, while he did believe there was an appropriate time and place for most things, there were some occasions when he just didn't give a shit.

      "You can fill me in, if you wouldn't mind," Parker said.

      "The bar..." Marek began.

      "A lesbian establishment I believe," Parker verified.

      "Yeah, not that that's relevant right now. The bar is owned by Angie Nichols, who is sitting on the left with those women over there..."

      Parker squinted. "Are they all women?"

      Kit started squirming on her stool, so Marek squeezed the back of her neck where his hand still rested. "How about you take over, O'Malley," he said. "What time did Angie open up?"

      "Twelve-thirty," Kit said, without spitting. "Which is later than usual because she'd been at a funeral; in Bendigo; where she'd driven yesterday morning. The others over there, plus one other woman who has since gone to work, were waiting to get in for lunch unaware that lunch wasn't on. Because of the funeral. Anyway they all came in to help Angie set up..."

      "The patrons helped to set up?" Parker interrupted.

      "The patrons who are also friends, yes," Kit explained, glad that Marek had hold of her. "Angie went around, as usual, opening windows to swap last night's air for today's. It was about fifteen minutes later that she got around to opening up The Red and..."

      "Red? What's wine got to do with this?" Parker asked.

      "Nothing," Chucky, Kit said, and didn't. "The Red is the dance room," she pointed. "Angie opened the doors and voila: very dead man in very big tray. She called the cops, then me."

      "Why you?" Parker asked with a bemused wiggle of chin and brow.

      "Me friend. Me private eye."

      Parker's chest spasmed with a short soundless laugh. "And are you a dyke too?"

      Before Kit could move an inch, Marek slid his arm down over her shoulder and pulled her snugly back against his body. "Yeah she is, Chuck," he said, "but only on the full moon. And, mate, you should see her lesbian fur and fangs."

      Kit held her breath, while Mr Oblivious said, "Marek, please don't call me Chuck."

      "Sorry Charlie, I forgot how much you hate it," Marek shrugged. "But do me a favour too, would you? Don't use the word dyke again. Or lesbian, for that matter."

      "What?"

      "Unless it is relevant to the investigation, the sexuality of anyone you come across in this establishment, or in connection with this case, is none of your business."

      "What?" Parker repeated, casting his arms out to emphasise his astonishment. "You don't think these women are relevant?"

      "Oh sure, the women may well be," Marek agreed, "but at this stage of the proceedings, I doubt the lesbians are."

      "O'Malley!" bellowed one of the lesbians over in the booth.

      "Yes, Rabbit?" Kit called back, as everyone turned in her direction.

      "If we can't have beer, can Angie make more coffee, please? We're havin withdrawals."

      Marek beckoned Angie back to the bar. "We could all do with a very strong brew," he said.

      Kit watched Parker watch the approach of the statuesque Angie Nichols. Interestingly, Chucky seemed to get smaller the closer she came, despite doing the small-man back-stretch to compensate. Like it would make a difference!

      Parker looked Angie over - up to her head and down to her feet - taking in her large-boned but trim and taut frame, and her hair which this week was silver and purple. His expression registered that she was, so far and without doubt, the likeliest suspect in the murder about which he knew nothing yet, apart from the fact there'd been one and it was strange.

      Angie gazed down at Parker with complete disinterest. "Espresso or cappuccino?"

      "Flat white," he replied. "Then perhaps you'd like to give me your version of events."

      "My version? You mean you want to know what happened."

      "Yes," Parker said impatiently.

      "Why? Who are you?" Angie asked, though it was obvious to Kit that she already knew.

      "Senior Sergeant Parker. I'm in charge of the investigation."

      "Oh, right," Angie drawled, as she slipped behind the bar again. "God, you took your time. I'd have thought the investigation was nearly over. Everyone else has been here for hours."

      "Ruth wants you, I think," Marek stated before anyone else could get a smart word in.

      "Who?" Parker asked impatiently. "Oh, Dr Hudson," he amended.

      "Sorry to interrupt you Senior Sergeant," the forensic pathologist smiled, "but I'm about to leave. There's nothing more I can do until the body is delivered for autopsy. I've slotted it in for six this evening. Cathy and your new bloke will do the honours with me."

      "That's fine, Doc," Parker nodded. "Anything you can tell me now?"

      "Only the obvious."

      "Which is?" Parker looked expectant.

      "He bled to death Chu... Charlie." Kit raised an eyebrow.

      "Really, O'Malley? Well, if СКАЧАТЬ